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Pitfall, anyone?
Jan. 19th, 2007 04:42 pmCheck out this commercial. Recognize the kid?
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Jan. 19th, 2007
Flying Home
Jan. 19th, 2007 05:15 pmAnd so goes the final day in Dallas. I've been at the airport since 1:30 because I'm a loser that has nothing better to do than sit around an airport waiting five hours for my flight. I'm fortunate enough to have a really cool mini-cubicle set up at the gate (thank you, Continental). A fond thanks also goes to the company that has unknowingly supplied my laptop with a permanent mobile Verizon wireless card. Much obliged, you jerks.
While the cold was maddening at times, the temps rose above freezing, and then rains commenced. I'm terribly glad I won't be here for the weekend, as more of this icy madness is on tap for the weekend. Still, I'm at a loss for how one deals with the ice. Nasty stuff. I'll take my tradeoff of summer heat any day.
You know, I didn't even talk about last weekend. You probably don't know this, but my anniversary was last week. Fifteen years of Mrs. Penguin putting up with my crap. We tossed back and forth what we were going to do. The traditional and modern gifts for the fifteen anniversary are somewhat less than romantic: crystal and watches. Boring. So we decided to make a real night of it. I gave Tracey tickets to G.Love for Christmas, a show at HoB that was supposed to start at nine Saturday night. Trouble was, the Saints game was on at 7. A reprieve was granted, however, as they (well, G.Love really, since he's from Philly) pushed back his set to 11:45. So we went down the street with a bunch of friends to watch the game. The bar was packed. Deuce's girlfriend was there. At least she claimed she was. Who knows how many he might have. You know the outcome of the game of course. SAINTS WIN!
By that point, all hell had broken loose across the city. We called a cab twenty minutes before the end of the game and kept the cabbie fed until we left. Tipped the hell out of him, too. By the time we got to the Quarter, we had loads of time to kill, so we wondered around for a couple of drinks. The atmosphere was electric. Spillout from the game was crazy. People screaming and yelling "Saints! Saints! Saints!" Black and gold was everywhere. We were incredibly gracious to some Eagles fans we found, bought them a drink, lavished affection for Donovan McNabb and the play of the team in the end of the season. And we drank and drank and drank. At the show, a totally packed room, the crowd went wild. G put on a great show. Not as good as many of the sets I've seen at Jazzfest, but great just the same. In all, the night was spectacular.
Then this week, the cold five days of ice. But you've heard enough of my crying over spilt snow. Never did get to my three places. Now it's over. I'm flying home to hug my fam. Tracey phoned me a while ago to tell me I got a package in the mail. I suspect it's my little secret purchase: a Saints jersey. I didn't actually buy it, as it was procured through a gift certificate I received last year for working a project. Wish I could get more of those. The gift certificates, not the jersey. Well, no, I'd take more of those, too, preferably one with "Penguin" on the back.
Man, this terminal stinks. There's a greasy spoon airport grille about fifty feet away that has little or no hood over the griddle, so every slab of pseudo-burger they burn over there smells up the whole room. Stink, stank, stunk. And then there's the businessmen. You know, I find that businessmen are the dorkiest guys on the planet. They wear their little bluetooth earpieces and walk around in circles, talking loud enough for every ear in the room to hear, spewing business-babble for all. I don't see that in the ladies. So much more professional they are, discreet speaking at a volume respectable to boardrooms and contract closings. However, these slightly past baby-boomer vacation women who loudly cackle while waiting to board might be slightly worse than the bluetooth boobs. But not by much.
I'm just aimlessly meandering now.
More later, but I'll leave you with this. What's wrong with this picture?
Three quatloos to the first correct answer.
While the cold was maddening at times, the temps rose above freezing, and then rains commenced. I'm terribly glad I won't be here for the weekend, as more of this icy madness is on tap for the weekend. Still, I'm at a loss for how one deals with the ice. Nasty stuff. I'll take my tradeoff of summer heat any day.
You know, I didn't even talk about last weekend. You probably don't know this, but my anniversary was last week. Fifteen years of Mrs. Penguin putting up with my crap. We tossed back and forth what we were going to do. The traditional and modern gifts for the fifteen anniversary are somewhat less than romantic: crystal and watches. Boring. So we decided to make a real night of it. I gave Tracey tickets to G.Love for Christmas, a show at HoB that was supposed to start at nine Saturday night. Trouble was, the Saints game was on at 7. A reprieve was granted, however, as they (well, G.Love really, since he's from Philly) pushed back his set to 11:45. So we went down the street with a bunch of friends to watch the game. The bar was packed. Deuce's girlfriend was there. At least she claimed she was. Who knows how many he might have. You know the outcome of the game of course. SAINTS WIN!
By that point, all hell had broken loose across the city. We called a cab twenty minutes before the end of the game and kept the cabbie fed until we left. Tipped the hell out of him, too. By the time we got to the Quarter, we had loads of time to kill, so we wondered around for a couple of drinks. The atmosphere was electric. Spillout from the game was crazy. People screaming and yelling "Saints! Saints! Saints!" Black and gold was everywhere. We were incredibly gracious to some Eagles fans we found, bought them a drink, lavished affection for Donovan McNabb and the play of the team in the end of the season. And we drank and drank and drank. At the show, a totally packed room, the crowd went wild. G put on a great show. Not as good as many of the sets I've seen at Jazzfest, but great just the same. In all, the night was spectacular.
Then this week, the cold five days of ice. But you've heard enough of my crying over spilt snow. Never did get to my three places. Now it's over. I'm flying home to hug my fam. Tracey phoned me a while ago to tell me I got a package in the mail. I suspect it's my little secret purchase: a Saints jersey. I didn't actually buy it, as it was procured through a gift certificate I received last year for working a project. Wish I could get more of those. The gift certificates, not the jersey. Well, no, I'd take more of those, too, preferably one with "Penguin" on the back.
Man, this terminal stinks. There's a greasy spoon airport grille about fifty feet away that has little or no hood over the griddle, so every slab of pseudo-burger they burn over there smells up the whole room. Stink, stank, stunk. And then there's the businessmen. You know, I find that businessmen are the dorkiest guys on the planet. They wear their little bluetooth earpieces and walk around in circles, talking loud enough for every ear in the room to hear, spewing business-babble for all. I don't see that in the ladies. So much more professional they are, discreet speaking at a volume respectable to boardrooms and contract closings. However, these slightly past baby-boomer vacation women who loudly cackle while waiting to board might be slightly worse than the bluetooth boobs. But not by much.
I'm just aimlessly meandering now.
More later, but I'll leave you with this. What's wrong with this picture?
Three quatloos to the first correct answer.
Flying to hell in a handbasket
Jan. 19th, 2007 07:01 pmYeah, so I'm still at the airport. My plane was delayed from Houston. So this is the scenario ahead of me. My flight lands at 8:33. The plane to NOLA departs at 8:45. I'm a terminal away from my gate.
Think I'll make the flight? The gate agent here thinks so, as the captain's going to "make up time in the air." Yeah, like he did in making the plane late in the first place.
so if I don't make it, I get to slum around Houston tonight. Joy. My brother-in-law might pick me up, but I'm think I might take the hotel voucher and make him come drink with me in the bar.
I was so looking forward to pouring three fingers and chilling at home tonight. Instead, there's the real chance of having to endure foam pillows again this evening. Fun.
Meanwhile, the flight before mine had an instrumentation problem. Sorry, that's too general a description. The fuel gauges were not working. Yeah. Not working. Needles no workie. The solution, apparently, was to either top off the plane to if that fixed the problem, or to manually calculate the fuel using tank dripsticks. If you're unfamiliar with this practice, an extremely rare one in this digital age, please read up on the topic here and tell me if you would have boarded that flight. It did, in fact, load up just now. Glad I wasn't on it.
I'm bored. But I think I hear my plane. Wish me luck. This penguin's legs haven't run that fast in a long time.
Ta.
Think I'll make the flight? The gate agent here thinks so, as the captain's going to "make up time in the air." Yeah, like he did in making the plane late in the first place.
so if I don't make it, I get to slum around Houston tonight. Joy. My brother-in-law might pick me up, but I'm think I might take the hotel voucher and make him come drink with me in the bar.
I was so looking forward to pouring three fingers and chilling at home tonight. Instead, there's the real chance of having to endure foam pillows again this evening. Fun.
Meanwhile, the flight before mine had an instrumentation problem. Sorry, that's too general a description. The fuel gauges were not working. Yeah. Not working. Needles no workie. The solution, apparently, was to either top off the plane to if that fixed the problem, or to manually calculate the fuel using tank dripsticks. If you're unfamiliar with this practice, an extremely rare one in this digital age, please read up on the topic here and tell me if you would have boarded that flight. It did, in fact, load up just now. Glad I wasn't on it.
I'm bored. But I think I hear my plane. Wish me luck. This penguin's legs haven't run that fast in a long time.
Ta.